


London Game

by NightCur



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jaeger Pilots, Jaegers, One-Shot, Pacific Rim AU, shut up anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightCur/pseuds/NightCur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A BBC Sherlock and Pacific Rim cross-over. Sue me.<br/>An adorable picture inspired me and I must say, I take great delight in torturing my friend (Hey, Ilana) with my head canons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	London Game

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this awesome picture post on Tumblr!: http://inchells.tumblr.com/post/55500821946/yes-i-did

John pushed the heavy metal door open and a figure struggles to lift bed clothes up to shield themselves from the encroaching light that suddenly filled the previously pitch black room. They thrash under the covers and groan like a five year old as John pulls out a dark blue t-shirt printed with 'London Game' in white letters, and a pair of black pants from a chest of drawers. He throws the clothes at the bed with long-suffered patience.  
"Get up, Sherlock."  
"I will when I want to," Came the croaky reply. The covers were tossed once more as Sherlock turned over, his mess of brown curls the only thing visible amongst the bundles of material.  
"I will get the cold water again."  
"No you won't," He groaned. "From your stance your wrists still hurt from the last sparring session, meaning you won't carry any loads more than half a kilogram."  
John blinked. _My stance?_  
"Sherlock, I don't care if you deduce every injury I've ever had, you're getting up so we can train," John snapped. "I'm fine by the way, it doesn't hurt."  
Sherlock didn't move. John narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, his London Game jacket bunching around his shoulders. He was about to open his mouth when suddenly a siren blared, lighting one wall in a myriad of yellows and reds. A holoscreen popped up and flashed the number 3 in the corner of the screen, the words 'Codename: Belgravia' appearing at the top.  
John stumbled over with curses under his breath as he pushed through the details quickly, speed reading the important parts of the brief. Something fell to the floor behind him and John turned to find Sherlock quickly pulling on his pants in a heap on the floor, his hips leaving the floor as they were dragged over his ass. By damn if that didn't make John a tiny bit excited.  
"Come on, John!" He chided, grabbing his shirt as he hopped around to pull on one boot then the other. "The Game is on!"  
Sherlock was walking fast out the door in less time than it took to put the holoscreen back against the wall. John cursed as he followed after, watching the tall Englishmen hurry around the corner pulling on his shirt.  
Sherlock was already half into his circuit-suit by the time John walked into the pilot prep bay. The technicians shoved his own suit into his hands and John went to an adjoining change-room to put the skin-tight suit on. He exited shortly after and the technicians began drilling and securing the armoured plates to his body, starting with the chest and moving out to the arms and shoulders and legs. Their armour was adorned with London Game's sigil on the left breast and a variety of scratches and scrapes from combat and brushing close with the console machinery. Their helmets were placed over their heads and calibrated within seconds, the motorcycle-esque design obsuring their mouths, but leaving full range for their eyes. The PPDC's logo was once moulded in their left shoulder plates but Sherlock had long since taken them and made them 'better', by dissolving and bending the metal with corrosive chemicals until the blue-grey plate was light grey and had splashes of green and blue and red, the colours marbling into each other. John had no idea what he did, but he had to admit it was quite nice.  
With armour in place, the pair walked through a wide steel doorway and into the the maze that would lead them to their Jaeger. Stepping into the head of their monster machine was always both calming and nerve-wracking for John. The potential to destroy, but also protect was a fine line to John, but it was a line he had once walked as a soldier.  
Pushing the thoughts aside, he tried to clear his mind in preparation for the Drift. Sherlock would always chastise him for the nervous or worried feelings that were planted in his brain post-Drift, the man would be sulky all day afterwards.  
John stepped into the foot holds and loosened his shoulders and arms before reaching back for the upper limb controls, forming a fist around the hand controls and started flicking holoscreen switches on the screen in front of him. Technicians fussed with cables behind him as he started the pre-'flight' checks and glanced at Sherlock.  
"Ready?"  
"Of course I'm ready, I'm standing here aren't I?" Sherlock finished his side of the checks and relaxed, expectant of LOCCENT to start talking soon.  
Soon enough, Anderson piped up, Sherlock rolling his eyes over-dramatically.  
"And how are we today gentlemen?"  
"Better before you showed up," Sherlock muttered.  
"Fine, now let's go," John spoke up for them both.  
"Great, initiating neural handshake."

_ArmyexplosiongunfirepainmorepainrelieflimpcanetherepySherlocknocanepinkhoundsacadamyscoutsDriftSherlockjaegerTheGame_

_MycroftchristmastinkeringexperimentsMindPalaceencyclopaediabankerAdleracadamythreepatchproblemsDriftJohnjaegerLondonJohnJohnDriftTheGame_

John breathed deep as he felt Sherlock's strong presence all around him. The two exchanged a look before pulling London Game's great hands up to chest height, the thick metal fingers forming fists with a metallic clash. Sherlock smirked at John, even though he couldn't see it, John could see it in his eyes.  
"The Game is on, John."  
"Yes, she is."


End file.
